10 years ago today

in memory of Eleni

10 years ago today, I watched as my baby girl slipped away. Away from her bodily anguish, away from the constant struggle to breathe, away also from me. Her going was slow. We had held her for hours, all through the night. When at last she breathed no more it was a bitter relief for all in attendance: my husband, mother, dear friends and the medical support team.

Not long after she passed, I lay down on my bed and slept. The experience was not unlike the psychological fog of giving birth. It was intensely unbelievable. And as with birth, I was thankful to my core that it was over, that she was free and we would never, ever have to do that again.

I am sharing this anniversary of Eleni Laura Hauser’s death with you, dear reader. So many of you read along during that joyful pregnancy, experienced the devastating shock of her mishandled birth and mourned with me while she lived and when she died. And many of you have also suffered such losses. I know that you are willing to be here with me, to hold this moment and to share my tears.

The absurd thing about life is that it continues. As long as there is life there is hope. Any child that breaths might be well. Any heart that beats might still be filled with joy. It’s absurd and dazzling so.

Any moment we find ourselves in is one we might savor. And I do savor them. I have gone on to have so many beautiful adventures after Eleni. The life that I could have had as her mother floats farther and farther away as I journey on in my boat toward the wild unknown. I love my life, also without her. Sometimes that joy is tinged with guilt, but mostly it glows with acceptance.

I wonder where she is sometimes. Where she stays. For me, she does not change. That is what it feels like that she is dead. But she continues to change us. Her life and death was the beginning, not the ending of what she means in my life. That experience of having and losing her planted a seed that continues to develop in me and in those who knew her and even in those who did not.

Elora so longs for the sister she never knew. She may become a doctor, she says, to help babies be born safely.

And me? Maybe she has made me braver. When I watched my child suffer and die, I gave up on the games that pacify others. I lost my patience with containing myself to certain boxes, first religiously and politically, eventually as a mother and lately as an individual. I have become braver about drawing my own lines and seeking the self-development that makes me feel most alive.

I am still doing this work. It seems my romantic life is the last to develop. Patience and bravery still required.

Being Eleni’s mother also made me wiser. Like many who come close to death, I understand deeply how much we have to be grateful for, we of the healthy and living. When children of my friends are diagnosed with dyslexia or life-long blood diseases, I grieve with them and then also share a strong sense of their potential. Because their potential to thrive still soars!

This perspective is such a sweet gift from Eleni. I have learned to feel pain, while my heart still swells with gratitude for life.

Do you know what else my time with Eleni gave me? Self awareness. The way one handles tragedy reveals a lot about oneself. I now know that I don’t drown in self-blame. I can accept that I did my best, even if it wasn’t good enough to save her. I don’t give up trying. I don’t hide from the reality of life, both its joy and pain. I have an inner strength, in great part thanks to my upbringing, that allows me to go on and to ask for support from my community. I’m grateful. I’m proud. I remind myself that I do have the courage to face my future, in the face of change and uncertainty.

So I mark this 10 year anniversary alone, but not. There are no children in my home today. My ex-husband and I don’t speak of heart things, nor will we contact each other today. But I received a condolence text from a friend this morning. Maybe later I’ll call Aria, who lives on the other side of the ocean, closest to Eleni’s resting place. And maybe I’ll even invite someone special to join me today in remembering Eleni. Our history is complicated, but lately we are learning to let ourselves be seen, even the ugly parts, the tender parts, the parts that aren’t brave and strong and whole.

And I know that you are also with me in spirit, dear reader. Thank you in advance for your kindness and for holding this space with me. Thank you for the lessons your comments have taught me. Thank you for allowing my writing to touch your heart and for sharing that with me. It is incredible that Eleni’s life has touched so many, taught so many. I treasure that.

with love,

Rachel

p.s. Here is Eleni’s story as it happened in real time in 2015-2016.

p.s.s. I created the quilt shared here, Ice Parfait, in the months after Eleni’s birth. The red slash allowed me to ponder how something unexpected and even tragic can still become part of one’s beautiful story.